Royally Screwed
by anangelwithatardis
Summary: Dean Winchester has got a new job in a new city as an aspiring chef in Paris at one of the biggest establishments in it, the Louvre. He meets a mysterious blue-eyed stranger after his shift in the museum's restaurant. As they get to know each other, Dean uncovers secrets about Castiel that make both their lives a whole lot more complicated.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: There is a small amount of French in this chapter. If there is anything that I think is hard to understand, I will put it in the Author's Note. Thank you!**

The dinner rush was fading out, but the aching in my feet was just starting to settle in. I had had a long shift and not many tips. I sighed as I untied my apron in the small dressing room next to the kitchen. An annoying American tourist spilled red wine on my white work shirt. I peeled off the sticky shirt and threw it into the hamper to be laundered. My maroon v-neck was partially pulled over my head when my manager poked his head into the room. "Winchester?"

"Oui, Jean-Claude?" I said in a tired voice, pushing my head through the rest of the shirt.

"I need you to cover for Paul tomorrow. He is ill." I snorted in response. Paul had been 'ill' very often since he got a new girlfriend. Jean-Claude spoke harshly, "You will be here at 6 am sharp." He dramatically left the room, the door swinging loudly behind him.

I rolled my eyes and mumbled mockingly, "Bien sûr, Jean-Claude. Merci, Jean-Claude." I shrugged into my leather jacket and walked out through the restaurant. The museum was mostly empty, security guards wandering about the grand rooms. Stragglers were taking last minute pictures, posing happily in the grand rooms. Closing time was approaching quickly, but I had just enough time to stop and see my favorite painting.

_Saint Michael Vanquishing Satan _by Raphael hung proudly on the broad wall. This room was in the far back and not many tourists were willing to make it all the way there. It was a safe, quiet place away from all the craze of the café and the people. My eyes widened with surprise to see someone standing in front of the painting. I stood hesitantly in the entrance of the room, half-turned to go back out. The stranger turned his head, his profile just barely visible. A clear voice rang out, "You can come in. I don't bite."

I walked toward him cautiously, "Sorry, it's just that not many people are still here this late." The man nodded. We stood side by side, staring at the great work in front of us. I gave him a quick once-over. He wore a black peacoat and leather gloves. A light blue scarf was wrapped around his neck. I asked interestedly, "What are you still doing here, anyway?"

"I suppose I could ask you the same thing," he retorted.

"Yeah, well, I asked first."

"Touché," a light smile played on his lips, amusement obvious in his eyes. "I'm simply enjoying the artwork. That is the point of an art museum after all." It was my turn to be amused now. He looked back at the painting. "Now your turn."

"This," I tipped my head to gesture the painting, "is my favorite painting. I walk by this room everyday, and I always stop in to look at it." There was something about the picture that spoke to me. Triumph of good over evil, the supernatural justice. Perhaps it also spoke to the stranger. "I don't think I've ever seen you here before, though." I glanced over at him, hoping for some affirmation.

"That is because I have not been here in many years, unfortunately. My work comes before my travelling plans," he frowned slightly as he said it. I was about to ask him about his work when he cut me off, obviously wanting to move on to the next topic. "You said you came here everyday. Why?" He looked genuinely curious, his head tilted slightly.

Blush crept up my neck. The guy seemed so regal; it was embarrassing to admit my profession. I stuttered slightly, "I, uh, I work here. So I guess it's not really everyday, but y'know…" I shoved my hands deep in my pockets.

"Oh," he said and nodded.

"Yeah, oh," I said as I reached my hand up to rub the back of my neck. "It's not the most glamorous job working in a museum, but, uh, it's something." The man looked alarmed and then apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it seem like I disapproved! I just didn't peg you for a security guard type, that's all." He raised his hands in innocence. I couldn't help but laugh at his expression. He looked vaguely confused.

"I'm not a security guard," I said as I smiled. "I work in Le Café Grand Louvre. I wait tables, but I'm hoping to actually work in the kitchen soon." A small note of optimism seeped into my words. Being a waiter was certainly not my dream, but living in Paris as a cook was.

"Ah, so you're a chef? C'est super," he grinned.

I shrugged. "In training. I mean, I want to."

"What's stopping you?" I opened my mouth to respond, but someone walked into the room. They coughed. I turned to look at them, as did my new acquaintance. It was my friend Ash, who was a security guard. We both started work at the Louvre at the same time, so we got to know each other a bit as newbies. I smiled a little as a hello, although I'm sure annoyance was discernible on my face.

"Oh! Sorry, man. Didn't mean to interrupt your date," he said, slightly uncomfortable. It was the stranger's turn to blush. His hands started to fiddle with the ends of his scarf.

I waved his apology away, "Not a date. Just got off shift." I looked back at my confidant to see how he would respond to the exchange. He was obviously embarrassed, but he hadn't protested or made the usual cry of 'not gay!' I made a silent note of this.

Ash shrugged and started back towards the exit. "Clear out, we're closing in 5." He was gone before I could even offer a good-bye.

I fished my phone and keys out of my pocket. "Sorry about that, he's a buddy of mine." The man had an unreadable expression. I hesitated a bit, "Right, well, I guess I'll see you around… I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name?" He didn't reply. He simply turned on his heel and headed away from me. "Wait, come on! I said I was sorry! Ash just likes to assume things, he didn't really mean it." He got to the doorway and paused, his hand resting on the ornate wood. He turned quickly to look at me, making brief eye contact.

"Castiel," he said with an evident French accent. "Je m'appelle Castiel." I raised an eyebrow at the name. It was weird and unique, yet it seemed somewhat familiar. I said it to myself a few times as I found my own way out. My mind was filled with thoughts of him as I walked around the cold streets of Paris in winter, making my way to the apartments. I wondered if I would ever get to see him again and about what would happen if I did.

* * *

The apartment door creaked as I walked in. I added 'oil the doorhinge' to my ever-growing list of things to do. "Dean?" I hear Sam call out. I hung my coat on the rack. He peeked his head around the hallway corner.

"Hey, little brother. What's up?" I asked. I followed him in the short walk to the grate room. The beer I grabbed from the fridge was cold and felt refreshing to my fatigued tongue.

"Not much," he said and gestured to the open books and highlighters scattered abut the coffee table in front of him. "How was work?"

"Bleh. It wasn't the best time of my life, but it definitely wasn't the worst," I collapsed into the couch as I flashed back to long days out running errands with my mother, Mary. Shopping for longer than three hours was not exactly my idea of a fun time, and Mom sure could shop. "Besides, I met this new guy. He was pretty mysterious." Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Hey, I know you're thinking, but, uh, it wasn't like that."

Sam bobbed his head, but suspicion was clear in his eyes. "So what was his name?" He picked up one of his many medicine books and waited for answer.

I took another gulp of my beer before saying, "Castiel." Sam looked up from his book, incredulous.

"Castiel? Seriously?"

I raised my hands in defense, "I know, it's weird, but it fit him." Sam laughed boisterously. "Laugh all you want, Sammy. That's his name." The laughter faded into a content grin as he shook his head and started highlighting big words I didn't quite understand. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but I feel like I've heard it before. Any idea where?"

"Not a clue, but I'll look into it a bit."

I beamed sarcastically at him, "I knew that I could count on you to do all of my research for me." He threw a highlighter at me. I laughed at his protest. "Hey, did you get that pie from Jessica for me?" Sam suddenly looked sheepish.

"Sorry, man. I forgot to ask for it," he said apologetically.

"Sam! You had one job! You know I've been craving pie since we left the states!" I said exasperatedly.

"I know, I know. I'll ask her tomorrow."

"You'd better." I harrumphed and turned on our crappy TV, getting comfortable in the silence that followed.

**A/N: Bien s**û**r means "of course". Thank you for reading! Rate and leave a comment :)**


	2. A First Date

A/N: There is more French in this! And more mentions of famous places in Paris. I have never been to Paris, so please forgive me for any inaccuracies.

Beep! Beep! Groaning, I rolled over to hit the snooze on my alarm clock. I squinted through my sleep heavy eyes to see the time. A bright red 6:30 was glaring at me. Late already. Grumbles passed through me as I forced myself to wake up. My brain wasn't functioning enough to do much other than pull on some jeans and a thick leather jacket to go over my t-shirt. I grabbed my keys and phone then walked into the living room.

Sam was curled up on the couch in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position. His school books were scattered around him. He must've fallen asleep studying. I smiled and threw a blanket over him before heading out.

College was the reason Sam was here. He was studying to be a doctor at Descartes University. I came with him to finally start my career as a chef. Getting the job at the Louvre was really kind of a fluke. They needed someone in a lunch rush and I happened to be there to help. Since then, I've been slowly trying to convince Jean-Claude to give me a shot to cook. He's been pretty rigid, but I think he might be warming up to the idea since they've been short on staff lately.

He probably wouldn't be so warm if he found out I was an hour late. The restaurant was quiet and mostly empty. I went through the kitchen doors and got dressed for the work day. When I came out from the dressing room, I found Claire already cutting apples for the breakfast dishes. Her small figure bobbed up and down as she shifted her weight down on the knife. "Bonjour, Dean!" Claire waved her knife at me and smiled. Claire was always too much a morning person for me.

I snuck a slice of apple. "Bonjour," I attempted to match he cheery tone with no luck. She laughed a bit and went back to cutting. I shoved the slice in my mouth and rolled up the sleeves on my dress shirt. I slipped back into the dining area, the door swinging behind me. I almost choked on my apple when I saw who was in the room, speaking with Jean-Claude. "Castiel?" I said dubiously.

They both turned to look at me. Jean-Claude looked unhappy, but Castiel smiled a bit. "Salut," he said. "I was just speaking to your employer," he gestured to Jean-Claude, "about a day off for you." Jean-Claude crossed his arms, confirming what Castiel had said. I stuttered, trying to formulate a response. "And he so kindly agreed. So go get changed and let's go." Jean-Claude harrumphed, but said nothing.

"I-, uhm, okay," I stared at Jean-Claude, still unsure. He nodded, telling me yes, go. "Yeah. Okay, I'll be right back." I stumbled back through the door. Claire looked up, but I ignored her and headed to the dressing room to put my street clothes back on. I suddenly regretted not having taken a shower this morning. I did my best to fix my hair to be more presentable, running my fingers through the light brown locks. I traded my t-shirt for the flannel I had stored for emergencies. I wasn't sure what was happening, but I wasn't going to object to a day off that was Okayed by Jean-Claude.

I went back out to find Castiel sitting at the bar, organizing silverware. "Did he put you to work in exchange for my freedom?" I said smilingly as I walked towards him.

He shook his head, "A worthy cause, but no. I offered."

At least I could rest easy knowing that at least one of my duties was taken care of. I asked, "So you ready to go? The museum doesn't open for another hour, so I figure we should head out."

"Yes, of course. I have a few places to go in mind," Castiel said as he placed his last spoon into the correct compartment. He looked up through his long, dark lashes, "Unless there is somewhere you would like to go, of course."

"Honestly, I don't care where we go, as long as they have breakfast. I'm starving." Castiel laughed as he stood up. He replaced his tan jacket over a navy sweater, and retied the same blue scarf around his neck

"As you wish."

After a short trip on the metro, Castiel pulled me into a small café called Mon Ami. We sat in a booth in the back, head bent over menus. Castiel seemed to be struggling to read his, eyes strained and lips pursed in concentration. Curious, I asked, "I thought French was your first language? They have English menus, too, y'know."

He looked up, blinking, "Oh, no. It is. It's just, uhm…" I quirked an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. He sighed. "You're not allowed to laugh, okay?" I agreed quickly. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses. My grin grew wide. He perched the thick, black frames on his nose. They magnified his eyes to twice the size. He looked at me expectantly. "Well?"

Giggles took over me. "Oh my God, you look like a librarian!" I said through them.

Embarrassment colored him, "You said you wouldn't laugh!" I tried to quiet my amusement. Exasperated, he offered an explanation, "I dropped one of my contacts down the sink this morning and now I'm stuck with these." The red still hadn't faded from his cheeks when a blonde, cross looking waitress showed up.

"**Bonjour. Vous désirez?"** she asked, pen poised to take notes. **(Hello. May I help you?)**

"Yes, I'll have the Belgium waffles and an orange juice," I answered as I handed her my menu. Castiel snorted. I glanced over at him, "What? Librarians don't like waffles?" He ignored my comment and turned to the waitress.

"**Je voudrais un croissant et une thé noire, s'il vous plait,"** his French rolled fluently off his tongue. **(I would like a croissant and black tea, please) ** His accent was always there, but it was most clear when he spoke the language. I thought it was pleasing and made me wish I had one. Castiel twisted back to me. "You know, we've gotten all the way here and I still don't know your name."

I had forgotten to introduce myself yesterday. I silently cursed Ash for interrupting. "How did you find out when I was working then?"

"Well, you said where you worked yesterday, so I thought I would just swing by and see if you were on shift," he paused briefly. "I asked your manager about the waiter with a leather jacket and he called you Winchester. I assume that's your last name?" I nodded. "Would you like me to call you Monsieur Winchester or will you tell me your first name?"

I chuckled, "You can call me Dean." He looked satisfied to have this information. "Wait, how'd you get into the Louvre before it opened? They're pretty strict when it comes to that sort of thing."

"Ah," Castiel reached for the jams at the edge of the table. He began organizing them into categories. He seemed uncomfortable, "One might call me charming, I suppose."

I sniggered, "Apparently. Resourceful, too." He waved me away, a smile forming despite him. His hands started to stack the jams on top of each other, forming a small tower. I was captivated by his behavior. He seemed preoccupied to his small creation, hands moving nimbly to balance each container. I asked, "Want some crayons?" My tone was vaguely irritated, but still curious.

He answered still looking down, "No. Unfortunately, I'm not really the artist type." It took him a few seconds to understand my underlying meaning. He looked up. "But that was rhetorical, wasn't it?" He sighed and dismantled the structure, "I'm sorry. I like to distract my hands when I'm nervous."

I wanted to reach across the table and cover his hands with mine to stop him, but I restrained myself. I still wasn't even sure what this was. "It's fine. Sam does it all the time." The question was clear on Castiel's face. I elaborated, "Sam is my brother." He nodded. "He lives here with me. Er, I guess I live with him," I amended. Castiel still seemed on edge. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why did you come get me this morning? Not that I'm not grateful for the dayoff, but…" I shrugged, trying to show my confusion.

He hesitated, "Like I said before, I haven't be in Paris for some time now. I won't be here for very long, so I wanted to enjoy the city. You seemed entertaining enough." I didn't think he meant to sound offensive, so I let it slide.

Jokingly, I asked, "So I'm your winter fling?"

"Something like that." His smile was fleeting. "In all seriousness, you intrigued me. I don't have many… Friends in my line of work." Intriguing? I hadn't been called that before.

"And your line of work is what, exactly?" I asked. He opened his mouth to reply, but the waitress reappeared with our meal. The topic slipped from my mind when I saw the stack of juicy red strawberries spilling over my waffle. My stomach growled at the sight. "Merci," I told the blonde in an exaggerated American accent. The girl frowned slightly and left.

"I do have somewhere I'd like to take you after this, if you still want to come with me," he was already spooning small mounds of sugar into his tea. Steam spiraled into the air with every turn of the spoon. I gave him a large, reassuring smile. I unraveled my silverware and dug in. We sat in silence for the rest of the meal, enjoying breakfast and each other's company.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Castiel said enthusiastically.

"You and I have very different definitions of 'fun'," I countered. We were standing on the steps of Paris' largest library, the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. The cold wind that was wafting around us tousled Castiel's hair, wrapping itself around each strand; it was very distracting. He tugged on my arm, but I just shook my head. Libraries reminded me of high school, a not very fun time for me. He sighed and ran to the top of the steps, imploring me to follow. People were staring at him, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Fine," I shouted to him. "But only if I get to pick the next place!" He clapped happily and gestured for me to follow him.

I only made it a few steps when I heard a familiar voice call out, "Dean?" I spun to see Sam standing with his hand pushed deep in his pockets. "Dean, what are you doing here, I thought you were at work?" Part of me was tempted to run up the stairs, but Sam would definitely be angry if I did that.

"I, uh, got the day off," I answered, my hand going up to rub the nape of my neck.

"Really," Sam looked suspicious. "And how did _that_ happen?"

I shrugged. "Castiel happened. I don't know, but I got the dayoff." Sam's entire face changed at the mention of Castiel.

"Look, man, I talked to Jess and-"

"Speak of the devil and she shall appear!" I interjected. Jessica came to stand next to Sam. I pulled her in for a hug, her blonde hair smothering my face. A soft vanilla scent filled my nose. When we pulled apart, she was smiling warmly at me. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Sam was going to meet after I took a look at the new exhibit," she reached for Sam's hand without looking. I grinned at the interlocked fingers. "I didn't expect to see you here, though." She was obviously curious.

Sam answered for me, "He's here with Castiel." He looked down at her. A small 'oh' escaped her lips. She became very thoughtful. "There's something we have to tell you." Confusion spread through me.

"About what?" I wondered. I felt someone tap on my shoulder. I glanced over my shoulder to find Castiel looking all sorts of nervous. "Oh! I'm sorry, Castiel, this is Sam," I gestured to my giant of a brother, "and his girlfriend, Jessica. Jess, Sam, this is Castiel." Castiel still looked anxious, his eyes darting between the two. They stared at him blankly for a few seconds, but Jess was the one to beak from the spell.

She extended a petite hand out to Castiel, "Lovely to meet you! Glad that someone could get Dean back into a library." She laughed at her own statement, a bubbly noise. Castiel grasped her hand and gave her an awkward smile.

"It is nice to meet you, too," he reassured her. His accent came through much heavier than usual. He must be uneasy around new people, I thought to myself. He let go and tugged on my arm more urgently this time. I looked up at him, uncertain of what he wanted. He motioned back to the library. I nodded and looked back at Jess and Sam. "I hope you will forgive me if I take Dean away from you."

Jess beamed at him, "Oh, it's no problem! Do enjoy the library!" I knew she was saying the last part for my benefit. I rolled my eyes. Sam still hadn't said anything, his eyes still sizing up Castiel. I backed up to the step above, ready to leave this bizarre encounter behind me.

"I'm sure that we will," Castiel said politely. "Au revoir." I waved feebly, then turned and ambled up the steps hurriedly, going through the grand glass doors. Castiel beat me there.

We were in the library for a fairly long time. Floor after floor, we climbed. Every now and then, Castiel would stop and pick up a thick book. "Now, _this _is my favorite," he would exclaim. His fingers were lithe as he leafed through pages. When he'd decided on a passage, he'd begin to read in hushed tones. His voice was music, even in the nonsense of French. He left his glasses on for the entire trip. It was an endearing sight. Occasionally, he would hand me a book in English, complaining that he was tired of talking. I smiled at him, reading all words carefully to avoid any mispronunciations.

By the time we left to find food, the day was fading into night. The wind had turned to snow. Small flakes had begun to collect on the sidewalks. We ate pastries and sat on a bench in one of the many picturesque parks of the city. As the chaos of Paris continued around us, I told him small details about myself, like my favorite movie. I told him about Sam and his studies. I told him about Jess and how she was the first person we met here. He didn't say much about himself, briefly mentioning that he had large family. The only one he called by name was his brother, Gabriel.

Mostly, he listened, making small noises of acknowledgement when needed. I was not usually so quick to trust, but Castiel made me want to share all of these little bits of my life with him. His eyes were old and understanding, even at the age of 21. Eventually, in a lull of conversation, he asked, "Ready to go?"

Teasingly, I said, "Sick of me already?" I bumped my shoulder against his.

"Nope," he said with an extra pop on the p. "But it is getting dark, and I would feel bad for returning you to Sam at such a late hour." I sighed, not wanting the day to be over just yet. I got up from the bench and cracked my back.

I turned to him and extended a hand. "Come on, there's one last place I want to go."

It was Castiel's turn to look apprehensive. The expanse of ice stretched out in front of us. People were milling about on the ice, a few attempting turns and tricks. I brought Castiel to the seasonal rink in front of Hotel Ville. I had learned to skate when I was in high school as it was a prerequisite for all dates in high school. Of course, those dates had been with girls who were absolutely horrid at it. I had higher hopes for Castiel's abilities.

I tugged on his arm, trying to get him to take the step out. We were blocking the entrance by just standing there. He shook his head firmly, "Dean, no. There are people here." I shrugged.

"So what? It'll be fun!" I said confidently.

He shifted uneasily in his rental shoes. "What if I fall?" A couple slipped in between us to get on the ice.

I laughed. "Oh, you will." I stepped out on the slippery surface. I spun around to face him. Grinningly, I told him, "But don't worry," I paused to pull him out with me. "I'll catch you." I winked. Crimson bloomed on his pale cheeks. A small titter escaped his lips. I smiled. "Come on, I'll teach you." He exhaled heavily, giving in. I clasped my hand in his and towed him along next to me.

At first, his movements were unnatural and robotic. After a few laps around, and several near-catastrophes, he gained his footing. I let go of his hand so that he could try on his own. He went about 10 feet before starting to slip. I caught up to him to help, but he pin wheeled his arms to regain his balance. Pleased, he smiled over his shoulder at me. I made approving sounds. He took one step forward. His feet tripped up underneath him. He flung out an arm to find something to hold on to. He fingers gripped my elbow. We both went tumbling down. "Cas!" I exclaimed.

"Oof," he blinked surprise from his eyes. "Whoops**, c'est dommage**," he erupted into a fit of laughter. **(That's too bad) **I shook my head in disbelief.

"You're a sneaky one, you are," I shoved him playfully. He slid backwards a few feet, still laughing. I got up and brushed my hands off. I heaved Castiel back on his feet. He was still smiling with childlike innocence. From here, I could see the snowflakes caught in his dark eyelashes. A flash went off in the corner of my eye.

"Cas, huh? I like that," he said. I chuckled in response. I let him try his hand at skating again. He was far more graceful this time. I had suspicions that Cas had not been entirely truthful when he claimed he hadn't been ice skating before. I skated circles around him, spinning him sporadically.

Castiel learned very quickly how to navigate, a natural talent. He told me about being forced to take ballroom lessons as a child. At first I was incredulous. Most kids are forced into doing shit like playing pianos. I hadn't heard of anyone having to learn to dance classically as a child. When I asked him why, he shrugged it off. He said that he would teach me how to waltz sometime.

"We should do this again, y'know," I voiced when we were unlacing our rental shoes just outside the rink. Cas looked up.

"What? The skating?"

"Well, yes. Or just like this whole day," I clarified. "I like spending time with you."

He nodded**, "Oui, je suis d'accord." (Yes, I agree) **He looked tired, obviously drained from all the activity. Still, he seemed content. Cas checked his watch. He gestured back to the streets, "Should we be going?"

My eyes were heavy when we reached my apartment door. "Thanks for today," I said, sleep weighing on my voice. "It's been awhile since I've had that much fun." He gave a small smile. His hands were shoved into his pockets. An awkward silence spread between us.

He took a step back, "Well, uh, I had best be on my way." I nodded. He turned to leave.

"Cas, wait," he paused. I grasped his scarf and pulled him to me, lips meeting lips. His eyes opened wide with shock, but closed quickly. His lips were indulgent and slightly chapped. His hands curled into my short hair. It was a short kiss, lasting only a few seconds. When our lips untangled, I murmured softly, "Au revior." I slipped back into the apartment, leaving a dazed Castiel on my doorstep.

As soon as I reached my bed, I collapsed into dreams of ice and laughter.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Mon Ami was the only place mentioned that isn't a legitimate place, as far as I know. Please rate and review :) **


	3. Jeux et Morceaux

**A/N: Sorry for the terribly late update! Please keep in mind that I have never been to France/Paris before, so there will probably be some inaccuracies. Thank you!**

Morning came far too quickly. The kiss from the night before still hung on my lips. My clock read 10 am. I stretched, cracking my back. There was a pleasant soreness in my body from the day before. In the dull quietness of my room, I heard voices float in from the living room. I couldn't make out any words, just the muffled pattern of conversation. I thought maybe one of Sam's friends was over to pick up an assignment or something.

I dragged on my jeans and an old t-shirt with holes in it. I ran my hands through my hair, considering taking a shower. I decided I could do it later and crept out of my room. I paused at the corner of the hallway. Sam's voice asked, "Are you going to tell him?" My brow furrowed. Sam never had company over that wasn't Jess, but it hadn't sounded like her before. Maybe I had been wrong. I peeked around the corner.

"Eventually," his deep voice responded. Castiel rubbed his face tiredly. I blanched at the sight of Sam and Cas sitting next to each other at the small breakfast table. They hadn't noticed me yet, but it seemed their conversation had ended. I collected myself quickly.

"Tell me what?" I asked. I stood with my arms crossed in the hallway entrance. Castiel turned to look at me, surprise clear in his face. His eyes were wide and deer in the headlights-esque. Sam didn't say anything as he looked down into his coffee. I raised my eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

Castiel recovered first, saying with a smile, "We're going to a football match." Sam grimaced into the pool of dark liquid. I had a feeling that this was not what they had been talking about, but pushed it out of my mind.

"You mean soccer, right?" I said mockingly.

"Oui. Paris Saint-Germain is playing an afternoon match," he explained. "I thought you would enjoy that sort of thing."

I nodded. "Cool, I'll just go get my stuff, and then we can go."

"No," Cas stood up. The chair scraped the cheap linoleum. "I'll be back in an hour or two. I have a few errands to run first."

"Oh, uhm, ok," I said. I didn't know why he didn't just call to invite me, but I wasn't going to object to free tickets to a game, even if it was soccer.

Cas smiled and turned to look at Sam, "Goodbye, Sam. Nice to see you again." Sam nodded without looking up. The door creaked loudly. Silence filled the room briefly following his departure.

Breaking it, I said, "Well, that was weird." I plopped into the old couch. I draped my arms over the side, so that I could look at my brother. Sam didn't say anything, his lips pursed. "I swear, he's not usually like that."

"I don't think you should keep seeing him," he said quietly.

I blinked in surprise, "What?"

"I think he's bad news, Dean," his voice was stronger this time.

I sat up, suddenly more alert. "Where is this coming from? What did he say to you?" I could feel anger just beginning to coil in my stomach.

Sam shrugged aggressively, "It's just a feeling."

"A feeling? Really?" I asked in disbelief. He looked away from me, jaw tightening. "Well, I hope you don't mind me saying, but fuck that. He's smart and funny and cute and it feels like I've known him for years. I _like_ him."

Sam's voice was defensive, "I'm only trying to help, Dean."

"If you want to help me, just support my decisions. Hanging with Cas is the most fun I've had since we've been here."

"I didn't ask you to come with me."

"I kn-" I began, but Sam interrupted.

"Then why are you still here?" Sam made wide gestures to the apartment and the city. "Dad's auto shop is waiting for you back home!"

"Leave it alone, Sam," I said darkly.

He kept going, speaking rapidly and crossly, "You're running and you're using this 'career' change to cover it up for you. You're too afraid to face the reality that Dad is gone for good and he's never coming ba-"

"Sam!" I shouted, standing abruptly. I knocked a glass over a glass on the coffee table with my knee, sending water all over the carpet.

He grew quiet, keeping his eyes steady with mine. "I'm just trying to help," he repeated.

I strode across the room to grab my shoes and phone. I turned to look at him, "Screw you." I let the door slam behind me. The vibrations rolled through me.

I ran downstairs, dodging people returning to their apartments. My bare feet hit the snow covered sidewalk with a jolt. I hopped from foot to foot, scanning the crowd for a tuft of black hair. A small family walked by giving me an odd look. I spotted him standing nearby, speaking with a man in a suit. "Cas!" I shouted, heading toward him. He looked over his shoulder, his mouth opened in a small 'o'. He very quickly finished his conversation with the stranger who got into the limo they were standing by. It drove away hastily. He turned to smile at me. "Was that a limo?" I asked, gesturing to the now empty space.

"The driver is an old friend of mine," he said offhandedly. "What are you doing out here? Especially with no shoes on?" His grin grew wide at the sight of my jumping feet.

"I want to come with you," I said. He looked confused. "Now," I clarified.

"Dean, I don't know. I have things to do…" he trailed off.

"Please. I just… I can't go back in there," I gave him my biggest puppy-dog eyes. He hesitated, unsure of what to do.

His resolve crumbled, "Okay." I smiled widely at him. "I'll just do it later."

"I can go with you, I don't mind," I said. He shook his head.

"It's fine. It's boring stuff anyway." I must have still looked skeptical. "I can do it any time, really."

"Are you sure?" I asked again, not wanting to be a bother.

"**Bien sûr**," he said. **(Of course) **He signaled toward the metro sign. "Come on; let's go kill some time before the game." He let me put my shoes on. They felt gross without any socks and the addition of wet snow. We started to walk toward our transportation. "Anywhere you want to go? Another library, perhaps?" he asked me.

I thought about it for a moment. "Actually, can we go back to your place? I really need a shower." I wasn't sure what Castiel would think of this, so I was relieved when nodded without thinking. I added for good measure, "You can join me, if you like." I elbowed him in the ribs. He blushed a shade of brilliant pink. He tried to stutter out a response, but ultimately failed. My stomach almost hurt with laughter. He shook his head at me, even if he was smiling fondly.

Cas was staying in a grand hotel in the heart of Paris. It was called L'Hôtel des Étoiles. He mused that it translated loosely to "The Hotel of Stars." When we reached his room after a long elevator ride, I stopped in the doorway. My eyes widened. It was probably the fanciest place I had ever seen. The back wall was made entirely out of glass, though Cas did close the curtains over it as soon as he walked in. The carpet was pure white as was most of the furniture. The walls were a royal blue that created a strong contrast. The room was wide and open, much unlike the usual hotel rooms in Paris that contained multiple bedrooms and living rooms.

He slipped out of his shoes and hung his coat on the desk chair. He glanced at me still standing in the entryway. "What?" he said.

My eyes were still scanning the room. "What did you say your job was again?" I could hear the awe in my voice.

"I didn't." He smiled mysteriously,

The possible careers that lent to this type of money were flitting in my mind. CEO was an option. Cas seemed too young to have that successful of an empire already. It could be an inheritance. Mob boss prodigy rooted itself in me. "You're not like a hit man or anything, right?"

His face abruptly became very serious. Gravely, he said, "Yes, Dean. I am a hit man." Silence stretched out between us. Castiel burst out into laughter, clutching his side. He wheezed out, "You should have seen your face!" I stuck my tongue out, which only set him off again. I took off my soggy shoes and left them outside the door. My toes wiggled on the soft carpet. Cas flopped on to the bed. He pointed at the door opposite it. "Bathroom is through there."

I nodded and went inside. The marble tile was cold underneath my feet. The room was gold with accents of the same blue. I unbuttoned my shirt and let it fall to the ground. I heard Cas start to play music. The familiar sounds of "Sympathy for the Devil" were muffled by the door. My knuckles tightened on the counter. I flashed back to working with Dad in the garage. He loved the Rolling Stones, and this had been my favorite of theirs. He taught me how to fix an engine and work with my hands. He tried to teach Sam too, but Sammy was always more interested in his school work than in cars.

The scene shifted. I gripped his hand tightly as his life drained away. The doctors had stepped back, claiming there was nothing left they could do. The pale light of the hospital made him look even sicker. Sam knocked the tray of untouched food to the ground. He stormed out of the room, unable to listen to the flat line. Green jello spread out across the tile. I held on as hard as I could, not wanting to let go of him.

Cas changed the music to something jazzier and modern. Michael Buble, or something. I could hear him humming along. He occasionally sang a few lines. I splashed cold water into my face, attempting to shake my ghosts off. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and jumped into the shower. There were a multitude of knobs on the wall. I stared at them in confusion. I willed the shower to start magically. I sighed. "Cas?" The music must have been too loud. "Castiel?" I called out louder this time. The tune clicked off.

"What?" he answered.

"How the hell does this work?" I was still shouting, annoyed. I could hear a tinkling laugh.

"Read the plaque," he ordered. I wrapped a towel around my waist. I found the metal sheet implanted into the wall just outside of the glass shower doors.

"Dammit," I whispered under my breath. "It's in French!" I complained. I could hear him laugh louder this time. "Just get in here and show me!" My frustration was reflecting in my tone.

"I'm changing!"

"I don't give two shits!" I yelled back. I just needed to get clean. I heard some shuffling. Cas poked his head into the room. His eyes raked over my chest, stopping at the towel.

"If this is some extravagant ploy to get me in the shower with you, it's not going to work," he said. His voice was oddly constricted.

"There's too many knobs." I rubbed the back of my neck. Castiel's face went slightly pink. "Get in here and show me how to do it." He shut the door softly behind him. He had exchanged the sweater for a white tank top. It revealed his broad shoulders and lean arms. I clicked my tongue in appreciation. He ignored me and got into the shower. I slid in next to him. He pointed out each of the controls, telling me what each of them did. "Which one was the overhead again?" I asked when he was done.

"That one," he indicated to the largest handle. I nodded. His hand brushed against mine. Cas seemed content to stay where he was. He studied me carefully, his eyes roaming over the planes of my face. Hesitantly, he glided a thumb over my cheekbone. I leaned into the touch like a cat and its owner. He laughed shortly, before inclining his head to meet my lips. I saw a glint of silver in the corner of my eye. A devilish idea rooted itself in my brain. I reached out fast and yanked on the knob. Water came pouring down on the both of us. It was cold and icy. Cas shrieked loudly, jumping backwards. I laughed at the noise. He joined in. The stream heated up quickly. His shirt soaked through, sticking to his body. The towel weighed heavily on my hips. I leaned forward, my lips against his. He pressed up into me, forcing my mouth open. Our tongues wrapped around each other playfully. I curled my fingers into his belt loops and brought him toward me. His arms wrapped around my neck.

Castiel pulled back, heavily panting. I could see the flecks of water caught in his eyelashes. "As much as I would like to stay in here, we do have somewhere to go," I could hear the regret in his voice. I mumbled an 'I don't care' while making a trail of kisses down his neck and to his collar bone. He chuckled before very carefully untangling himself from me. "Don't take too long." Cold air swirled around me as the glass door opened. I sighed, and found the small bottle of what I thought was shampoo.

We arrived at the Parc des Princes shortly after the shower incident. I had been expecting nose bleeds, thinking that Cas had purchased these last minute. Money, however, had no concept of "last minute." We sat a mere stone's throw away from the stretching soccer players. I marveled at the closeness, which was something I had never experienced before. Not that I was overtly fond of soccer; I was definitely more of a football kind of guy.

I couldn't help but think that Sam, who played soccer in high school, would appreciate these seats more than me. I felt a stab of guilt for running out on him earlier, but it dissipated quickly when I looked at Cas, his cheeks reddened from the biting cold. He seemed nervous and jittery. His weight shifted from foot to foot. I chalked it up to just pregame excitement and coldness.

I looked at those around us. They were decked out in jerseys and face paint. Immediately, I felt silly in Castiel's borrowed clothes. The pants were just a fraction too tight and the boots a smidge too small. The cream sweater did fit snugly, though. Being able to smell Castiel's vanilla scent on it might have had something to do with my love of the knitted fabric.

I stared enviously after a particularly delicious cotton candy walked by me in the hands of a toddler. My mouth salivating, I glanced up at the concession stand. I asked Cas if he wanted anything. He considered in for a moment before answering, "**Un chocolat chaud.**" (A hot chocolate) I nodded, thankful that my French speaking abilities included the cuisine, and started the climb to the bustling stand.

I received a few odd looks while I was waiting in line. One woman outright gaped at me. I assumed it was due to my civilian attire in a sea of orange and blue, though I did wonder if perhaps there was something on my face. I fidgeted and picked at the hem of my sweater under the scrutiny. I quickly placed my order, making sure to get extra whipped cream for Cas. I balanced my beer precariously on top of the large tub of popcorn on the return trip.

I shoved the steaming drink into Castiel's gloved hand. He mumbled a quiet thank you. I offered him some of the salty snack, but he shook his head no. I raised my eyebrow in concern, "What's wrong?" He pursed his lips in thought before turning to me.

"Dean, I n—"

Music blared over the PA system. Announcers' deep voices speaking fluent French snapped us both to attention. Players were set and ready to go. Whatever Cas had to say was lost in the deafening roar and chants of the crowd as action picked up. I cracked open my beer and relaxed into the atmosphere.

The Paris Saint-Germains scored the first goal about fifteen minutes in. I whistled happily and high fived Cas. A burst of flashes caught my eye. I frowned, searching the throng to find the source. Finally, Cas clapped and cheered. The tenseness dispersed from his shoulders. I forgot about the flashing and focused on enjoying the game with Castiel. We threw popcorn at bogus calls and attempted to follow the chants of the PSG fans. It was the first time I really felt like Cas' friend, not just a stranger who he took around the city for kicks.

We left the large stadium at the end of the game, the adrenaline of the win coursing through me. I threw my arm over his shoulders in laughter. He smiled brightly at me and wrapped his arm around me waist in response. He told me stories about his childhood, that he was forced to take ballroom dance classes and how his partner Margaret, whom he called Meg, would call him names he didn't quite understand. He told me about the time his older brother Gabriel had stolen all of the candy from their pantry and they had eaten themselves sick.

I coveted the small bits of information like a child collecting rocks. I was trying to piece together Castiel's life in a way that was logical. There were chunks missing though, and the picture never cleared. He continued to give me pieces as we walked in the setting sun back to a shabby apartment that didn't feel much like home.

Cas and I fell through the apartment door in a fit of giggles. He had recalled a time when he got a piece of gum stuck in his unruly hair and had chosen to sport ridiculous hats for weeks instead of telling his father what had happened. He ended by telling me this had happened only a few months ago. He showed me a picture of him in a neon green and blue fedora, his lips drawn up in a toothy grin.

We stopped short when we saw Sam sitting at the table. His face was murderous. The tapping of his fingers on the table echoed in my ears. "Sam?" I asked. He refused to look at me. "Sam, if this is about earlier today, then—"

"You," he pointed at Castiel, who had backed up behind Dean. "You said you could protect him." Confusion poured out of me. What did Castiel have to do with this?

"Sammy, you're way out of line," I warned him. It was like I was speaking to a depraved animal. Sam _looked_ like an animal, his posture aggressive. I half expected him to start beating his chest and howling. "Have you been drinking?" I looked around the room for some sign of substance abuse, but saw only a half drunk beer on the counter that was probably mine anyway.

"No!" he shouted. "Jesus, Dean. This isn't about _me_; it's about your boyfriend here." He nodded at Cas. Simultaneously, we started to say 'We're not dating', but Sam cut us off. "Oh, shut up, you know what I meant."

I tried to speak as calmly as possible, "Cas hasn't done anything wrong."

Sam guffawed, "Why do you keep defending him? You don't even know the guy!"

"I do, too!" Defiance colored my tone. I was getting fed up with Sam dictating my life and my choices, always admonishing the things he didn't agree with. Sure, my relationship with Castiel had been sudden and unexpected, but where the hell did Sam get off being so rude to Cas?

Sam ignored me, turning in his chair to look at Cas. "What the hell were you thinking, gallivanting about in public?" his tone was accusatory. Cas flexed his jaw, biting down hard. "Ice skating, for Christ's sake!"

"I took care of it," his deep voice snapped back at Sam.

"Really? Because the story still made it into the paper." I tried to ask 'What paper? What story? How did Sam know about the ice skating?' but the two were in too deep to hear me.

"I offered them a counter story," Cas folded his arms over his chest. The fabric of his coat was pulled taut.

"What? About two bro's hangin' out at a soccer game? You think people are going to believe that garbage?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do!" They were shouting at each other now, slipping into rapid French. I couldn't follow what they were saying; I assumed that this was a continuation of the morning conversation. I was ready to rip the hair right out of skull. I attempted a few times to speak over them, to get their attention, but they were too loud.

Finally, I yelled, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO TALKING ABOUT?" My fist found the table's hard surface in anger. The entire population of the world took a collective inhalation. Then Sam scooted back in his chair to stand up and we all breathed out. He threw a rolled up newspaper on the table in disgust. I leaned over to see the headlining story. At first, all I saw was the fuzzy picture of Cas and I fallen in a laughing heap at the ice rink. Then my eyes found the headline itself. It read: **Prince Castiel Finds New Muse? **

"I don't understand," I said. I heard the tremors in my voice. "What is this?" I looked up at Sam, who stared at me expectantly. Crosser this time, "What the fuck is this?"

"I'm sorry, I should have told you before. I tried to, but…" Cas spoke up from behind me. His words trailed off at the end.

"Tell me what? That you're a liar?" I said haughtily. I was still looking at the newspaper, still trying to make sense of it. I remembered the flash at the ice skating rink and the soccer games and the way people had looked at me today. I was front page news and I didn't even know it.

"No, not a liar. I never lied," he said honestly. "I just… refrained from telling you the entire truth, that's all."

"Then what's the entire truth?" I asked.

My hands curled into angry fists on the table. I felt his once comforting hand clasp onto my shoulder. I turned to face him. I studied his face, and oh he was beautiful. Orange and blue paint smeared on his pale cheeks. His blue eyes were lively and innocent. His mouth was slightly parted, just begging to be kissed. There was so much about him that I could plainly see, but it had never occurred to me how much _more_ there was that I didn't. "I'm Castiel Fontaine, Prince of Belgium."

The last piece fell into place, and the picture was of me as a fool of the royal court.

**A/N: Parc des Princes and the PSG's are both real, but Castiel's hotel is not (sadly!). Do forgive me for my lack of knowledge about soccer and any mistakes I made regarding French culture or the language. Please rate, review, and share!**


	4. La Vérité

**A/N: WOW! I'm really late with this update, sorry about that. As always, I have never been to France and do not pretend to be an expert with the language. If I make any errors, please let me know!**

His eyes were wide with expectancy, eyebrows slightly raised. I stammered over words, trying to form a coherent sentence. Sam saved me from responding first. "I'll be back later. You two," he gestured vaguely to us, "have stuff to work out." He fumbled for his coat as he practically sprinted for the door. Cas had kept his hand firmly on my shoulder, like he was holding me upright. Though I did feel particularly faint, I shook him off and headed to the couch. He sank down next to me into the worn leather. I kept my mouth drawn together, waiting to wake up from this bizarre dream.

"Dean, I know that it's hard to believe, but—"

"It's not," I said sharply. He looked taken aback. "No, it actually makes perfect sense." He frowned, obviously confused. I kept going, "Yeah, see, the camera flashes, the soccer game out of nowhere, hell, even all the people staring at you on the street: it all just makes _so much_ fucking sense now." He looked away, lips pursed in idle shame. I scoffed loudly, "Prince; I can't believe I didn't see it before." I shook my head with exasperation. He didn't reply. Instead, he seemed to be very intensely studying the back of his hand. "Prince Fontaine? Un-fucking-believable." I pushed off the couch, about to make my way to the door. Cas caught my hand, stopping me in my tracks.

"Look, I know that it's stupid and you probably think I'm the most pompous asshole of all time now, but I want you to know that that is not true," he tried to assure me.

"What? The stupid part or the pompous asshole part?" I interjected spitefully.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Both, I guess." This small gesture that just screamed _Cas_ to me melted some of the ice that had found its way into my heart. Silence persisted between us. I dropped back into the couch. I shut my eyes tightly. Colors swirled when I opened them to look at Cas. His shoulders were hunched forward like they carried the weight of thousands of others, which I supposed they did if he was truly royalty.

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I tried."

I snorted, "Bullshit."

His eyes snapped to mine. A spark of passion, maybe anger, lit them up. "I did."

"You should have tried harder, then."

"It's not really something you can bring up in casual conversation," his eyes started to squint at me in frustration. "**Je vous prie de bien vouloir m'excuser." (I beg you to forgive me)** Sorrow ran deep in his eyes, going beyond this incident. There was so much I wanted to say, to ask, to yell at him for, but I couldn't express any of it. I had never been in a situation like it before and I wasn't handling it well. I searched for the right words, but it felt like I was grasping at straws.

"Whatever," was the most I could manage. Another awkward silence bubbled up. I could hear the kitchen clock ticking with every passing second. Cas looked like he was also at a loss for words, if not resigned. I sighed heavily, getting up from the couch. This was something I needed time to come to terms with. I opened the front door for Cas to leave. He stood up slowly and walked to meet me. He stopped in the door frame. He turned around to look at me.

"I didn't... I didn't know it would go this far." Honestly wrung through his words. His blue eyes were wide with sadness. Part of me wanted to grasp his shirt and pull him back into the room, to just forget about what had happened. But the rest of me looked at him and saw a golden crown perched precariously on top of his dark curls and could not see beyond it. I swallowed hard and looked away, my jaw clenching. "Dean," he touched my shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry." I shook off his touch.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry, too." The door closed on him with a resounding thud.

* * *

When I was a kid, we lived in a quaint house in Kansas. We weren't the perfect family, but my mom always made sure our Christmas card was perfect. John always had a just a bit too much to drink after work and picked fights with Mary about bills and shit I didn't think was worth fighting about. It was never physical or anything, just a constant plague of arguing. Other than that, we were relatively normal. Sam had a golden retriever he named Rocket. I hated Rocket. He was always using my G.I. Joe's as chew toys and slobbering all over me. I definitely preferred our cat Clyde. He would sit in my lap whilst I did schoolwork.

One day my mom pulled into the parking lot of Lawrence High School. I looked out the window forlornly. My best friend James had left for some boarding school in Minnesota and I was left alone. Well, mostly alone. Lisa stood out front in the center of a large group. Her iconic cherry flavored lollipop dangled out of her heavily glossed lips. The black and red cheerleading uniform displayed prominently on her body. Her teeth showed a dizzying white when she spotted my mom's new black car. I sighed unhappily. My mom ducked her head to press a kiss on my forehead, but I dodged it. Sam had his nose buried in a too-thick book in the back seat. I slumped my way out of the car, punctuating my exit with a loud slam of the door. My mom's eyebrows drew together in concern. She tried to mouth the words 'I love you', but I shrugged it off and began the ascent into the world of high school. I wrapped my arm around the waist of Lisa as she blabbered off about a pyramid gone wrong during the previous day's practice. Her words melded together with those around her and it all turned into a jumble I couldn't follow.

The screeching of metal against metal pulled me out of my haze. I turned my face to the street. A black car was wrapped around a crumpled red Viper. Horror seized up through me. Screams punctuated the air. I ran hard up the sidewalk, ignoring the calls of my name. When I got to the car, I could see the severity of the damage. Sheets of metal were curled up everywhere, fire reaching through the cracks. I heard Sam's small voice calling for help. I peeked through a gap in the metal where the back seat window should have been. Sam's large eyes stared up at me, filled with fright. The door was destroyed, the frame sticking out at some points. I yanked desperately, trying to pry it open. Streams of blood formed on my palms. I gave up on the door and went around to the back. The back window was still mostly intact. "Sammy!" I shouted gruffly. Smoke dried my throat. "Cover you head!" I punched through the glass with a stray piece of machinery. It gave way quickly, shards of glass raining down into the remnants of our car. Sam cried out in pain. I leaned through to undo the seat belt. I pulled Sam out, doing my best to avoid glass clinging to the edging. Tears poured down his dirty cheek as he sat on the asphalt. I crouched down next to him, inspecting his wounds. Thankfully, they were restricted mostly to tears and scratches. I hugged him tight to me. Sam asked for mom, his cries and sirens distorting the message. My eyes snapped open. "Mom?" I called out. I ran to the driver's side. I saw the blood pooling out of her temples. "MOM!" I tried to get to her, but the thick arms of a firefighter constrained me. I wailed loudly as he dragged me away, my feet kicking against the air.

In the months that followed the death of Mary Winchester, emptiness hung over me like a veil. Dad stayed out longer and came home reeking of alcohol. I was forced to step up and take care of Sam. The paint on the white picket fence chipped away and a stillness seeped through every crack in the house. It took every ounce of strength I had not to break down. Sam was the lucky one. He was younger and didn't have the chance to connect with Mary the way he had with John. I don't think that he really remembers her all that well. Nine years later and I still felt the dull ache of loss every day.

I had run away to Paris with Sam when John died so that I could avoid facing his death. I shoved my feelings deep down inside of myself and covered them with a new job, a new home, a new distraction. But now that my most recent distraction had blown up in my face, I was left feeling defeated. Memories of Dad surfaced and festered around the edges of my heart. I tried to push them away by being angry at Castiel, but it was unsuccessful. I fell into a meaningless routine, now carrying the weight of a lost father and a lost possibility of a future and friendship.

When I went back to work the next day, Jean-Paul blocked my way. "Winchester, you have the whole week off. Prince Fontaine requested it." Surprise flitted through me briefly, though it was replaced with sourness at the casual use of 'prince'.

"Prince Fontaine can go fuck himself, yeah?" His jaw swung agape. I shoved past him and headed to the kitchen. Claire was back to chopping up fruits and vegetables for prep. It was odd to think about how brief a time had past since I had last seen her, yet so much had happened. She waved pleasantly, but I ignored it. I didn't much care about keeping up with social pretenses anymore. I just wanted to focus on my own work for once.

I grabbed my waiter's apron from the hook in the dressing room. I found Luc watching the small shitty TV in the back of the kitchen. It was separated by tall storage cabinets. Two cheap portable chairs sat side by side. We used it during downtime and when we were avoiding Jean-Paul. He looked up when he saw me. He smiled happily. "**Rebienvenue!**" he said.** (Welcome back) **I nodded in return. "Good vacation?" he said while turning back to the TV. He clicked through the channels.

I shrugged. "Fine, I guess." He made a small noise of acknowledgement. I patted the pockets of my apron, finding them empty. I groaned, realizing I had lost all my supplies to the weekly laundry while I was gone on my brief vacation. I rummaged through the drawers behind me looking for a new pen. The door swung open loudly from the front. I could hear the stomping against the white tile, and muffled conversations.

"LUC**! Viens ici!**" Jean Paul shouted. **(Come here)**

Luc shot up from his chair. "Gotta run," he mumbled. He dropped the remote into his chair and slid pass me.

"Good luck," I called after him. He looked over his shoulder and winked. My cheeks tinged pinked. I immediately felt a stab of regret. Maybe I had only known Cas for 3 days, but they had to have been the 3 best days of my life. The small flirtation felt like cheating to my tender heart. I looked back to the TV. Luc didn't turn it off in his escape. I leaned over and picked up the remote. The English news channel was playing. Luc probably chose it for my benefit. My lacking French vocabulary was well known amongst my coworkers.

I paused to watch what the anchors were saying. A pale woman with a severe haircut was rattling off information about a surprisingly innocent story about a cat fashion show. I was about to turn off the TV when the story changed. An image of a familiar face appeared in the left corner. Her melodic voice read out, "Belgian Royalty abandons annual ambassador meetings in Paris. Prince Castiel Fontaine was spotted at the airport this morning on his way back to Brussels. He was supposedly staying for the duration of the conference as the representative of Belgium. We can only wonder about what caused his brash exit until an official statement is given. In other news…"

I clicked off the TV. I stared at the blank screen. He told me he had gotten an extension on his visit the other day. Obviously, he was skipping out early. I stood dumbfounded. I hadn't planned on forgiving him for lying right away, but I never expected him to leave before we ever had a chance to work it out, or at least_ talk_ about it again.. Maybe being with me wasn't worth the effort for him. He was a prince after all, and he couldn't waste any time on a commoner like me.

I dropped the remote in disgust. I shoved the chairs recklessly back into their hiding cabinet. I grabbed my handful of pens and headed back out to the dining room to start my shift.

**A/N: Hopefully, I won't be as blocked with the next chapter. Thanks for reading! Rate and all that jazz.**


End file.
